Mackenna on the Edge

by Djuna Shellam

  She sat down on the bed and gently massaged her leg. Still suffering from jet lag and the emotional trauma sustained in New York, Mackenna calmly waited for the vessel to completely pull out of the marina before settling down for some much needed rest and relaxation. As she lay back on the bed and made herself comfortable, she thought, This is a good idea—far away from Deirdre, Eve, the earthquake and civilization in general. It was an excellent idea.

  Lying on her parents’ bed, she tried to put all unpleasant thoughts out of her head, letting the gentle motion of the sea and the hum of the ship’s engines lull her to sleep. Images of her and her parents boarding The Katie Mac for the first time filled her head, especially the particularly memorable occasion of her mother’s attempt to christen the yacht. Her mother’s embarrassed but sweet smile was etched in Mackenna’s mind when the bottle of champagne she raised to the hull slipped out of her hand and into the water before even making contact with the yacht. It was a funny and unforgettable event. Mackenna remembered the room she was in was her parents’ and suddenly felt a jumbled mixture of feelings ranging from warm and nostalgic, to sad, to overwhelmingly lonely as she drifted into a deep and fitful sleep.

  “I’m not who you think I am, Emmy. You think I’m a much better person than I really am. You’re wrong. You don’t really know me. You’re wrong.”

  “Stop it! Stop it!”

  “I let you down—it’s time you faced that. I let you down. I will never make you happy. I still love you—I’ll always love you, but it’s time to say good-bye. It’s time to say good-bye, Em…”

  “No!”

  “Good-bye”

  “No!”

  “Good-bye, Em…”

  “No! No! NOOOO!!”

  “Nooo!” Mackenna yelled out loud as she sat up straight on the bed. “Ah!!” she exclaimed, finally yanking herself from sleep. “Ugh…”

  She looked around the room, bewildered with her surroundings and the gentle swaying of her bedroom where a fresh but unusual scent lingered in the air, when she suddenly realized where she was. The room was dark but for the dim lighting created by decorative lights mounted around the perimeter of the yacht that streamed through the small windows. She stretched and straightened out her rumpled clothing and then switched on the light above the headboard. She checked her watch—seven-thirty. It had already been eight hours since leaving Marina del Rey.

  Mackenna lay back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what she should do next. She was less tired, but nothing had really changed with her nap. Her leg still bothered her a little, she still felt the same mentally, and The Demon was still lurking, though perhaps less patiently than eight hours earlier. Worse yet, her emotions were roiling.

  She wondered what Eve was doing at that moment and was surprised at how much she genuinely missed her. Mackenna momentarily wished she had accepted Eve’s offer to accompany her home. But she knew that was a ridiculous thought. Eve would never leave New York to come with her, especially not before her commitment to the film had been satisfied. She wouldn’t jeopardize her career like that. Mackenna just couldn’t see her doing it, especially considering her own track record. No one Mackenna had ever cared about ever gave up what was important to them for her—no matter how superficial or unimportant it seemed to be at the time—while she always gave up everything and seemed to end up with nothing.

  If only her parents had not been so stubborn and accepted her sooner, or if Alice had only given up the military for her instead of… or if Prairie hadn’t taken a traveling job… or Deirdre… Her mind began to reel with the memories. Well, it didn’t matter, Mackenna decided. She wanted to be alone anyway. There was the remote possibility Eve would have actually left with her if she had accepted Eve’s offer to come back with her to L.A., but Mackenna sincerely doubted Eve would have followed through. It was just a kind gesture, but an empty one—and Mackenna knew it. It was just as well, because even though she cared for Eve and maybe even loved her—though she wasn’t sure—it just wouldn’t work. Eve simply knew too much about Mackenna’s history with Alice. Eve represented the past, and the past was eating Mackenna alive.

  ~/~/~/~/~

  “Well, do you know where I can reach her?” Eve’s exasperation was evident in her voice.

  “She’s still on the yacht, Miss Magnusson,” Izzy said in her familiar Irish brogue. “You might be callin’ her there.”

  “Eve, Izzy. Please, call me Eve,” she insisted again for what seemed like the hundredth time of the middle-aged housekeeper and resident matriarch to the entire household. “And I’ve already tried the yacht,” Eve added, her frustration growing. “Right after I talked to you last night—I’ve been calling every hour and there’s still no answer.”

  Eve didn’t have to remind Izzy she’d been trying to get through to Mackenna for four days and was obviously being stonewalled by Mackenna, the household staff, and perhaps even Izzy. If Mackenna wasn’t sleeping, she was working and couldn’t be disturbed, or she was out on the grounds, or out on an appointment. Now she was in flipping Catalina. “I’m feeling a bit helpless, Izzy.”

  “I don’t know what to tell ya Miss Magnusson,” Izzy said before she realized her mistake. “I mean—Miss Eve. I’m afraid there’s nuthin’ I can do for ya—’cept to wait until she gets back, or if you want to leave another message…”

  “Just tell her I called again, all right?” Eve sighed. “You have my number. I just wanted to talk to her and see how things are going, and tell her how things are going here. You know… Anyway, I guess I’ll try again later. Thanks, Izzy.” Eve hung up the phone, defeated.

  “Shit, Em,” she wondered aloud, “what the hell are you doing?” The phone rang immediately, startling Eve. She quickly snatched the receiver from its cradle. “Em!?” she exclaimed excitedly.

  A confused and distant voice came slowly from the other end. “Uh, no—this is Camille. Eve?”

  “Yes,” Eve admitted soberly, “Hi, Camille.”

  “I take it Mackenna isn’t there,” Camille quipped.

  “You have excellent instincts,” Eve replied dryly, then admitted, “No, she went back a few days ago, Camille. Kind of in a huff, and I was sort of hoping you were her.”

  “Oh no—what happened?” Camille asked, with concern in her voice.

  Eve quickly filled Camille in on the details of the party and Deirdre’s revealing remarks which caused Mackenna to flee from New York. Then she asked Camille what Mackenna had told her about Alice. Upon hearing Camille’s version which was comparable to Deirdre’s, Eve was reluctantly compelled to tell Camille the painful truth.

  “So there it is,” Eve sighed, her heart heavy after exposing Mackenna’s big lie to Camille.

  “Oh my god,” Camille gasped, and then with urgency in her voice asked, “Do you know where Mackenna went, Eve?”

  “Yeah,” Eve replied. “Supposedly she went to the yacht, according to Izzy, anyway.”

  “What!? Oh no…” Camille’s voice took on an immediate ominous tone.

  Eve’s spine tingled. “What’s the matter, Camille—you’re scaring me.”

  “I’m getting a real bad feeling about this, Eve.” Camille’s heart was pounding and she felt slightly nauseated. “It’s really unlike her, you know? Dammit.”

  “What the hell is it, Camille?”

  “Shit.”

  “What!?”

  “Oh Christ…”

  “What?!” Eve was ready to scream with fear and frustration. “Will you just tell me? C’mon!”

  “Oh god… she once told me the only good thing about inheriting the yacht was if she ever wanted to… to end her miserable life. She said she’d just take it out to the open seas and jump overboard—‘No muss, no fuss’ she said.”

  “Oh no,” Eve said under her breath.

  “Well, I thought she was joking at the time, but…”

  “Well, Jesus, Camille—now what? What if she wasn’t joking?” Eve was fending off hysteria wellin
g up from her lower depths. “Can you go down there and… I don’t know—you don’t think she’s going to do… anything drastic, do you,” Eve asked urgently, but she didn’t really want an answer.

  “I don’t know, but shit—I’m in Toronto right now for a conference and a super important meeting. It’s been scheduled for over a year, and I can’t leave. Shit. Anyway, I’m more worried about the booze, to tell you the truth. I don’t think she’s had a drop in years, but I know it’s a constant struggle for her. She’s been really depressed… This whole debacle may have been that proverbial last straw,” Camille conceded. They were both silent until Camille exclaimed her frustration. “Dammit! What about you—are you almost finished on the film?”

  “I haven’t even started shooting yet—I’m not scheduled for another two days. I’ve been rehearsing, but…” Eve’s mind was reeling.

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know, Camille.” The line fell silent again as Eve battled with her composure. “I’m really worried about her. Things didn’t feel right before, and now I know for sure they aren’t right. God, it’s making me crazy… and really scared.”

  “Shit almighty, you can say that again. Well, listen, I’m late for my meeting—it’s a late one—and I cannot miss it. I know it sounds shitty at a time like this to put business first… it’s just shitty.” She paused. “Aw fuck,” she blurted with determination. “It’s just bullshit is what it is. This is a fucking emergency. Fuck the meeting; I’ve got to go get her. I don’t know how soon I can catch a flight, but —”

  “No wait, Camille.” Eve paused, then took a deep breath. “I’ll go,” she declared firmly.

  “No way, Eve. You cannot walk away from a part like that—honey, it’ll ruin you. If I leave right now, my career will not be affected in the least little bit. Well, maybe a teensy little bit, but so what?”

  “It’s okay, Camille. I’m going,” Eve said with certainty.

  “You sure? That’s a huge commitment, Eve, not to mention the risk. You better think this through. I’ve been around long enough to know you’re gonna fuck yourself royal if you walk out now. They don’t care why you’re leaving, Eve. As far as they’re concerned you’re personally dissing them and you don’t give a shit about their business. You better be sure…”

  “I know, I know. I’ve never been more sure of anything before. I don’t have a choice—I mean for myself.” Eve knew as soon as she said it how true it was and what it meant. “I love her,” she admitted, her voice breaking with emotion.

  “Yeah, yeah. I figured,” Camille smiled. “I know she cares about you—if you ask me, I think she might be falling in love with you, too. Look, you know I love her like a sister, and I’m worried sick. If you really want to go, then… do it, okay? I really don’t want to flake out on you, but if you —”

  “You’re not flaking, Camille. I’m going. I’ll take care of her. I promise,” Eve vowed.

  “I know you will. Okay, okay, okay. Fuck. I’ve gotta go. Good luck, Eve. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

  Eve hung up the phone. She thought about what Camille said and then called the ship-to-shore operator to try the yacht again, but yet again, got no answer from The Katie Mac. She contemplated her options and the surprising dilemma she found herself faced with, but no matter which way she presented the facts to herself, the one that loomed larger than life was the one that ultimately motivated her to pick up the phone again. She waited impatiently for the hotel operator to come on the line.

  “Operator? Yes, get me United Airlines, please. Thank you.” Career be damned—she was in love with Mackenna—she knew that now—and she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything until she found her. Eve just hoped she wasn’t too late.

  TWENTY

  Looking Back

  Alice and I lived in a two bedroom apartment on base that lacked only a kitchen. It was in an old World War II wood-constructed building complex we referred to as The Woods. It was one of many buildings that used to be the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters—B.O.Q. in military-speak—during the Second World War, and up until the Korean War. After that, the buildings were used for personnel on temporary duty or base visitors until finally, they were abandoned for newer, more modern structures.

  In order to make room for a growing student population, those of us who were single and permanent party personnel were moved to the older barracks. Prior to that, Alice and I had separate rooms, with roommates, in the newer brick dorms, which were officially designated as The Quads. They were four brick, three-story buildings, situated on all four sides of a rectangular grassy area, thus their label.

  From the moment we were informed of our upcoming eviction, we were all extremely bitter about the move. We felt we had been rudely kicked out of the newer brick buildings in favor of the transient students’ needs. Too often, it felt as if the students’ comfort was more important than our own. What were we, we often complained to each other—chopped liver? We were ready to revolt until we actually lived in them. It didn’t take long for us to realize the glorious value of living in The Woods. The Quads, or The Bricks, as they quickly became known for obvious reasons, had little to no privacy. The Woods were as close to being autonomous, and private, as you could get living in single military housing. In short order, we all came to love The Woods.

  My first official day on base, I remember my initial introduction to Alice as somewhat unusual, but as I got to know her better, I eventually realized it was quite typical of her. It was a warm Texas day, and she was on the couch in the air-conditioned dayroom of The Bricks, watching All My Children on television and eating a box lunch when I began to drag in my belongings from outside. Because I took a two-week leave between assignments, my things had arrived ahead of me from Italy, so I was able to get settled into my dorm room right away. Usually, when PCSing, you’d have to wait a week or two or more before your stuff got to your new PCS, or Permanent Change of Station. As Alice continued to quietly lounge, I would tromp across the dayroom, hot and sweaty, carrying a box or a suitcase down the hall to my assigned room, deposit whatever I was carrying, and then back outside to the cement landing where a Motor Pool driver had so kindly dumped my possessions.

  She never said a word throughout my whole moving process. I could tell, though, she was watching my every move while she slowly ate Chow Hall French fries, one by one. I assumed she was on her lunch break because when I came out of my room less than a minute after my final trip, the television was off and Alice was gone. Gone, but not from my memory—not even remotely.

  Alice was one of the most attractive women I had ever seen, even as she sat on the green Naugahyde couch, half sprawled and half perched in her rumpled green combat fatigues. Her thick, strawberry blonde hair was pulled up so sexily I nearly died each time I walked by her, sneaking quick glances as I went. Immediately, I knew I loved her—it was a classic case of love at first sight. I didn’t introduce myself because I was too shy, and Alice didn’t introduce herself because, well, because she was Alice. What I didn’t know that day is that we would be roommates before the week barely passed, and best friends by the end of the month.

  Our first official meeting came at the end of that first day when she came out of her room and quietly sat next to me on the couch. I was watching a television documentary on Elvis Presley, trying to decompress after a very hectic first full day of in-processing on base. I was so completely engrossed in the compelling subject of the still living King of Rock ‘n Roll that I didn’t even realize it was her until she tapped me on the shoulder and softly introduced herself.

  Alice apologized for her coolness earlier and said she was in a bad mood at lunch time. She said she didn’t want to share her bad vibes with me and ruin my first day on base. There were plenty of other things on Goodfellow to ruin my day without her contributing to it, she said while chuckling to herself. It was so effortless for her to smooth out any rough spots there might have been between us. Because of her affable nature, which
easily overcame my own shyness, we quickly became friends.

  Despite Alice’s easy-going and friendly nature, I found it excruciating to be around her because I already loved her so—more and more each day it seemed—but being near her was by far much better than being apart from her. So smitten was I that I even went so far as to extend my four year enlistment two years just so I could stay with her until the end of her enlistment. I was completely and thoroughly devoted to Alice. It didn’t matter to me whether she felt the same or not. When I look back on the amount of time we were friends before I ever told her how I felt, however, I am overwhelmed with sadness and regret so great, because if I had told her sooner, things might have turned out differently.

  Might haves…

  It’s easy now to look back and see how things would be different now had I done certain things and not done others. I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t help it—I cannot keep from looking back. Everything, everything is pushing me to look back. Look back! And I do—I look, and then I’m overwhelmed with sadness and grief, or regrets about things I can’t change. I turn on the radio, and songs I never dreamed would be golden oldies when I listened to them as a teenager and young adult play now, and effectively lift me from the present and hurl me violently into the past.

  I turn on the news, or go to a party and people are discussing issues that were tantamount to my own experience almost twenty years earlier. If I am out shopping, I am surrounded by teenage girls who look and dress like seventies mall hippies—long stringy hair parted in the middle, bell-bottom pants, love beads, halter tops and platform shoes. And teenage boys with long, unruly hair haphazardly parted in the middle, bell-bottom pants, tie-dyed shirts and shaggy, downy beards.